


What You Need

by TansyPoisoning



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Car Sex, Creampie, Dark Steve Rogers, F/M, Kidnapping, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Stalking, Yandere, and i guess i'm the only person who tags mcu with yandere cause i'm a weeb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-08 09:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TansyPoisoning/pseuds/TansyPoisoning
Summary: Life as an unemployed, homeless wanderer was hard, until you met Captain America. Then it got worse. [Steve Rogers/AFAB reader – please be mindful of the tags and warnings]





	1. What You Need

You woke up disoriented, not knowing what was up and what was down, and only when the familiar pain in your back made its presence known you remembered you were in your car – the place where you had been sleeping in for the better part of five months. There wouldn't be anything scary about that situation (save for the ever-present financial anxiety that followed you like a specter) if not for the rumbling beneath you.

You sat up, throwing the thick wool blanket off of you to see what was fucking with your vehicle/domicile and you found the culprit at the driver's seat, his hands roaming the steering wheel as the car turned left violently.

Nice, someone was robbing you.

The lizard part of your brain told you that so long as you didn't move and didn't make any noise the man wouldn't notice you, and for some reason the rest of your body believed it. Your strategy worked for about a minute, and when your glance met the stranger’s in the rear view mirror you still managed to convince yourself that everything was fine, until you saw his blue eyes widen in shock, which was when you couldn't keep pretending he didn't see you, so you did what any reasonable person might be expected to do in that situation: you screamed.

The man swore under his breath and turned his head to you, then quickly back to the road, a road you had never seen before. Someone had stolen your car with you inside and was driving it to a place you didn't know to do god knows what. 

"Hey, sorry, sorry- please don't scream" His voice was strong, but it had an edge of nervousness, and you swore you heard him take a few deep breaths "This is going to be awkward." 

"Who are you?!" You demanded, emboldened by his placating answer. If he was likely to hurt you, he would’ve already told you to shut up or else by now. 

"I'm Steve." He answered in a manner that was both friendly and totally inappropriate given the context "Steve Rogers." 

The normal part of your brain had difficulty processing his words, and the lizard part had jumped ship a while ago. Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers meant Captain America, the former leader of the Avengers, now an international criminal. Captain America was stealing your car. He certainly looked like the superhero from the peek you got, excepting the beard. That new piece of information mollified you, although you weren't sure if it was out of shock, respect or fear. You didn’t think Captain America was going to kill you over a car, but you knew he could do it if he wanted to. 

"Steve Rogers as in Captain America?" 

He sighed and readjusted his grip on the wheel. 

"Yeah. Exactly like that." 

"What's going on? Why are you stealing my car?" You felt a lot more relaxed now, and it showed in your tone. 

"I shouldn't be telling you this, but" He sighed again "given the _circumstances_ I think it's fair. I got a lead on a Hydra agent we've been chasing for months. I knew I'd lose him if I didn't start moving, so I took the first car I saw." He stopped, and in the silence, you could feel the possible consequences weighing on your shoulders. You could lose your car. You could die. You’d have to spend more money on gas, if nothing else, and you were short on money. "I'm very sorry, I would never have taken your car if I knew you were still inside." 

You shook your head. 

"You don't get it, I-I live here. If something happens to my car-" You couldn't bear to finish the sentence. You were already homeless, and if you lost your mode of transportation, the place where you stored all your belongings and the only roof over your head you didn't know what else you could do beyond sitting on the gutter and crying. 

The reflection of his eyes met yours in the mirror. There was obvious concern in his gaze, giving the claim of his identity more credence. Too many people didn't sympathize with your plight, taking you for lazy or incompetent, but you knew Captain America would be understanding.

"If anything happens to it, I'll buy you a new one." He nodded, and you had a hard time doubting him. Could he spend his money to reimburse you? How was he going to buy you a car when you didn't have a job or a house and he was a wanted man? Would he even be able to find you again? Fuck it, he was Captain America, now you were sure; if someone was going to go through the trouble it had to be him. 

"Okay" you acquiesced, smoothing the blanket over your legs and looking out the window. You were in the middle of nowhere, no buildings or signs anywhere and no cars sharing the road with you – nowhere for him to drop you at while he went on his mission “I-I guess I’m already here. How far away is it, anyway?” 

“About a dozen miles.” He answered “When we get there you stay inside the car unless I tell you to leave, okay?” 

“Yeah, alright.” You nodded, watching as his eyes smiled at your answer. 

The rest of the trip went by quietly, the only conversation between you being when he asked if you were strapped in (you weren't). You were tired and bored, but you couldn't bring yourself to fall asleep again. In case something – _anything_ – happened, you had to be on alert. 

“We’re here.” Steve’s voice suddenly broke the silence and he swerved out of the road at a spot that had no signs, tracks or markings. How he knew where he was going was beyond you. 

He drove the car down a steep slope, following a winding path to a place you now dreaded to see. At first the thought of visiting a Hydra agent’s hideout didn’t bother you because it felt too distant to be scary, but now that you were almost there it dawned on you that you were in some deep shit. Hydra wasn’t some trifling little gang, and although you didn’t think Captain America would put you in danger, there was only so much he could do. 

After what felt like an eternity of loops you two arrived at the bottom of the trail, where a modern aircraft awaited on a concrete landing strip. You had expected a large building, or at least the entrance to some sort of bunker, but you weren’t qualified to say where a Hydra agent ought or ought not to hide. 

Steve parked the car right in front of the strange airplane, surprising you when he didn’t immediately jump out, but paused to look over his shoulder and at you. You assumed he was just trying to make sure you were alright, and you only grew worried when, instead of leaving after he unbuckled his seat-belt, he pressed the button to lock all the doors, then turned around and squeezed between the front seats to get in the back with you. 

"What happened?" You asked, scooting over to give him room while you looked out the window. Nothing outside seemed especially dangerous, but you still trusted his judgment better than you trusted your own. "Did- Is something wrong? Did he leave? Is he leaving? I-is he-" 

Steve called your name and grabbed your hand, distracting you from what was beginning to look a lot like a panic attack. 

"Listen to me. You're safe." He reassured you, and everything from his expression, to his tone, to his posture was so earnest you almost didn't ask the question burning in the back of your mind. 

"D-did I tell you my name?" You sputtered, spotting the shock on his face before he smiled and looked down. 

"No. No, you didn't. I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself." Steve shook his head and chuckled. 

"What are you doing?" You tried to pull away from his grasp, but his fingers tightened around yours as you did. "What about the Hydra agent?" 

"We caught him last week." He revealed after he regained his composure "I stayed behind to check if he left anything dangerous behind, among other things." He stared at you meaningfully, as if expecting you to continue the story for him "I was looking for him when I spotted you." 

Steve paused, giving you enough time to verbalize your bewilderment, but you remained silent. Your disbelieving eyes were locked to his tender ones, and you hoped with everything within you that he would burst out laughing and yell ‘SYKE!’. As uncharacteristic as that was, it would be a million times better than the sinister plot unraveling in front of your eyes. 

"This" he continued, gesturing to your car "is no way to live." 

You would have agreed if this was a casual conversation, but right now you didn't want to entertain him, so you didn’t speak. 

“I know you’ve been trying to make things right; I know how hard you work and how difficult it is.” His fingers brushed the back of your hand “You can’t get a job without an address, you spend so much on food and gas, and everything just keeps pilling up. It’s like there’s no way out.” He paused again to gauge your reaction – or rather the lack thereof “I know what it’s like. Being lost, helpless.” 

No way in hell Captain America had kidnapped you just because he empathized. There was no way this was happening. 

“I’ve been watching you struggle for so long, but I couldn’t do anything while my team was close, you know? Now I can take you away from all of this. You don’t have to worry about food, or debt, or someone breaking into your car. You can do whatever you want where I’m taking you.” 

Steve searched your face for an answer. You didn’t know what he expected to find, but your gaping mouth and blown-wide eyes didn’t deter him. He chuckled again, rubbing the back of his neck and… was he fucking _blushing_?! Did he really have the gall to kidnap you and then act coy about it?! 

“This sounded a lot better in my mind.” He looked down to the upholstery, though his eyes didn’t focus on any spot in particular, and you could sense something brewing in his mind. After what felt like several minutes but had to be only a few seconds he shifted, fully turning his body in your direction and draping one arm over the back of the seat. “Well, it’s too late now.” 

He tugged at your wrist with enough strength to slide you into a laying position. You placed your forearms against the polyester surface below for leverage, but he was straddling you and pinning you by the shoulders before you could even budge. You wiggled your legs and looked around for anything that could help you push him off, but there was nothing within your reach. 

You heard Steve calling out to you, but you ignored him. He said your name again, this time pressing his fingers into your flesh, making you whine in pain, and he didn’t relent until you deigned to glare at him. He let up and smiled at you, seemingly satisfied now that he had your attention. 

“You have nothing to worry about. I got you now.” He might have intended his words to be tranquilizing, but they only made you sob. His hands slid down your arms, holding your wrists to the seat as he leaned over to peck your forehead. 

“No! Stop!” You thrashed about, fighting both him and your oncoming tears “Don’t do this, please, please-” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” He pulled away to see your expression, his gaze adoring and your stomach churning “I know what you need.” 

He laid his body over yours, putting his legs in between your own and resting his crotch over your clothed mound for just a moment, then rocking his hips forward in a slow, hard motion. You took big gulps of air, afraid you would suffocate if you didn’t. 

“I wanted to wait until we got there” He murmured, kissing away the tears running down your cheeks. He went on until he reached the corner of your lips, at which point you turned away and he met your jaw instead. He smiled against your skin, making you shudder. “but I really don’t think I can.” 

Steve ground his pelvis on yours, and you felt his hot breath fanning your temple. He buried his nose in your hair and thrust once more, again and again, keeping an easy rhythm that warmed your nether regions against your better wishes. 

He was gentle, moving at a slow pace, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, dragging his fingertips up and down your arms, then your waist. You tried using your newly freed hands to push him away, but in contrast to his movements, his body was hard and unyielding. He didn’t even react, maintaining the undulating motion of his hips and nuzzling the top of your head as if you were giggling beneath him rather than trying to buck him off with all you had. 

“Yeah.” He grunted out after several minutes of grinding against you “I really can’t wait.” 

When Steve slid his hands from your waist to the buttons of your pants something inside of you snapped. What you were doing before, all that silly slapping and whining? To anyone sane and decent it would be protest enough, but to a twisted person it might’ve appeared excessively polite. You had to do something that would tell him, in no uncertain terms, to leave you alone, and with that thought, your hands flew to his throat. You felt veins, muscles and pipes, you felt him swallow, you felt almost as if you held his life in your palms, but only for a second. Steve’s face contorted into an ugly snarl and he took your wrists in a bruising grasp, pulling you off of him and turning you onto your stomach in one swift move. 

He twisted your arms behind you, holding them back with one hand while the other wiggled underneath you to continue from where he’d stopped. All the while you begged for him to stop, your voice now your only means of protection. He straddled you, resting all his weight on the back of your thighs. 

“I read somewhere that some people exhibit self-destructive tendencies.” His words were casual, but his tone was anything but. He panted and groaned as he divided his attention between removing your paints and rubbing his crotch against your ass. “It sounds silly, right? Who would do that? But it’s more common than most people imagine, and I think-” he paused to let out a long, loud moan “I think you have that problem too.” He finished unbuttoning and unzipping your pants, and you sobbed when you felt his fingers slithering inside them “Change is scary. It’s easier to just live like you’ve been living, but I know a cry for help when I hear one and this is it.” He slipped your bottom past your thighs then moved off of you just long enough to slide in the gap between them “I’m going to help you, even if you don’t want me to.” 

Steve didn’t bother removing your underwear, only bunching it to the side and running two fingers along your lips, gathering your fluids and rubbing you up and down. He rested his forehead on the back of your head, tightening his hold on your wrists. You could feel him move behind you, rocking his body back and forth like he couldn’t wait to sink into you. 

“I’m going to help you, I’m…” He shuddered and his hand slackened then clenched “I just need you to help me first.” 

He withdrew his digits then brought them back to your pussy, wetter this time. He plunged inside, one, two, three times, spreading them as he did. Your heart dropped; there was no stalling now, no pretending you didn’t know what the outcome would be. 

Steve removed his fingers again, and you heard the frantic sound of buckles being pulled and buttons being undone, then you felt the blunt head of his penis poking at you folds. He was _actually trembling_. 

Without so much as a warning he entered you, forcing his shaft in to the base. You both howled, but for different reasons.

Steve’s fingers made for a poor substitute; he was large, too large, even. You needed more time to get used to his girth, but he didn’t seem interested in letting you adapt. He let go of your numb arms, and wrapped himself around you, leaving almost no space between your bodies, all the while his hips rocked back and forth, stirring your insides in a manner that was uncomfortable rather than painful. He burrowed his face on your hair, rubbing against you like an affectionate puppy. 

“Fuck.” He breathed out, then stopped and kissed your nape “I’m sorry.” 

You didn’t have to wait long to find out what he was apologizing for. As it turned out, he didn’t regret his actions, only felt pity about the pain that he knew you would feel once he started pounding into you. He didn’t work up to it, just started fucking you with what had to be more strength than any normal man could muster, and you felt yourself break under him. 

Everything hurt, from your twisted arms and your pinned legs to your battered pelvis and your abused cunt. When you realized you were trapped, writhing against sim uselessly, you gave up. He wasn’t going to stop now, so you might as well just let him finish without giving him the satisfaction of showing him how you felt, so you just mashed you head against the seat cushioning to smother your wails and took what he had to give you. 

Your plan of helping him get it over and done with wasn’t fruitful. Your placement didn’t allow for much movement, and you were in no physical or mental condition to try squeezing him with your inner muscles. Furthermore, you weren’t sure there was anything you could do even in the best conditions. The violence with which Steve was railing you would’ve already made most men cum or break something, but he took forever to show that he was any closer to finishing than when he started. It couldn’t be all in your head, because as time went by, thrust after torturous thrust, you felt your body give in as the pain ebbed away. He was still pounding you with the same vigor when you stopped crying, only whimpering when he hit a particular tender spot or you felt too sorry for yourself to keep quiet. The sounds in your car belonged chiefly to him and the springs creaking beneath you. 

You thought you would be ready when he orgasmed, but you weren’t. He suddenly sped up, more than you would’ve thought possible, and his moans grew louder, culminating with a shout. He stilled almost completely if not for his harsh breathing and twitching cock. You tried not to think about his cum settling inside of you, focusing on your relief : he had finished at last. He softened, beginning to slip out of you, but before that happened, he thrust once, plugging you back up. 

You were beyond frustrated, but you couldn’t very well react in the state you were in. 

“I normally ah… last a little longer.” Steve sounded apologetic, but you didn’t get his angle. He should be ashamed that he had wrecked you, not that he couldn’t keep doing it for longer (not to mention he had lasted plenty) “Just give me a minute.” 

Steve’s hands, which had been holding you like a vise, started roaming your body, rubbing your belly here, flicking a nipple there, while he nuzzled your ear. 

“Sorry.” He whispered “I got excited. I’m normally better than this. I guess it’s the effect you have on me.” He chuckled, and you tried to squirm away from him, but all you succeeded in doing was transforming his laughter into a groan. 

“Please, stop!” You begged. 

“Can’t” He said, and you felt his breaths coming in heavier, prickling your skin. He was growing hard again “Gotta take care of you first.” 

He lifted himself off of you, and you used the opportunity to lean on your forearms and hold your torso up. 

He shushed you, not unlike an adult would do to a toddler crying about a nightmare, and ran his hands from beneath you and across your back to finally land at your hips, his thumbs over the top of your ass while the rest of his fingers tried to curl around you. 

“I told you, didn’t I?” He said, moving inside of you again, this time so much gentler that it was hard to believe he was the same person “I know what you need.” 

To your dismay, there was no pain this time, only a strong feeling of fullness. With a little more effort it could feel nice. Steve seemed to be of the same mind, because no sooner than you had that thought, one of his hands left its place to play with your clit. 

It was shameful, how quickly you came after that. You wished you would’ve been able to hold it in, if only out of shame, but your body hardly did what you wanted it to. It clamped around your assailant, rocking with his gentle pace, then finally relaxed, flopping like you’d just ran a marathon. 

Steve wasn’t far behind. He came again, this time with a little less volume and much less fury. Rather than waiting for his dick to slip out on its own he pulled away from you, sitting on the other end of the seat and taking his legs from between yours. He flipped you on your back and leaned over you again, and just like before, he looked at you like you put the stars in the sky, and you sensed your time with him wasn’t over just yet. 

He remained hovering above you and propped up by his arms, seemingly happy just staring at your pathetic face for several minutes, and he might’ve stayed longer if you hadn’t spoken up. 

“When are you going to let me go?” You asked, making Steve frown and tilt his head. 

“Let you go where? You have nothing outside this car.” His words would’ve stung if you weren’t miserable already “At least not yet.” 

Steve sat back and fixed his clothes before doing the same to yours. Aside from the occasional shiver, you didn’t respond. He leaned in between the front seats and reached for the dashboard, unlocking the doors with an ominous click. He turned back to you, a winning smile plastered across his face, and tugged at one of your limp hands. 

“Now, let’s get you in that plane.”


	2. What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve brings the reader to a "safe" place.

Steve dragged you out of the car, then lugged you across the lot and into the jet while you offered only minimal resistance (you would like to have done more, but you had lost feeling in your legs).

He set you down on one of the chairs closest to the cockpit and strapped you in, pausing to kiss your forehead before moving away. Rather than going to the pilot’s seat he stopped in front of a hidden overhead compartment and pulled out a folded blanket.

“You should take a nap.” He advised, unfurling the fabric and covering you with it. “It’s going to be a while.”

You had no intention of ever sleeping in front of him so you only glared in response. Steve smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘You’re not going to hold out for long’, they said.

You were determined to go the entire trip without even blinking, burning holes in the back of his head with your gaze as he got settled in the cockpit. Although your eyelids were heavy and your body was sore, you resisted bravely, at first. You nodded in and out of consciousness several times, waking whenever your head would droop too much. You were satisfied that, if nothing else, your body wouldn’t let you sleep in such an uncomfortable position, and you might have made it the whole trip if you hadn’t allowed your head to rest back against the seat.

As you faded into unconsciousness you wondered what his taunting gaze meant. Did he simply think you wouldn’t be able to stay awake for long, or did he have something else in mind?

* * *

When you came to, you were disoriented, not knowing what was up and what was down. You rolled over in the limited space you had and sat groggily, taking note of your surroundings. You were in a room with white walls and a beige carpet. There was a large wardrobe to your left and a door in front of you. No windows, or paintings, or anything that made it look lived in. The bed you were on was pushed against the wall, covered by white sheets, and, sleeping beside you, was Steve.

You made to get up, but you must’ve done so a little too quickly, because a muscular arm wrapped itself around you just as you used your hands to push yourself off the mattress. You tried to pry him off, kicking furiously in hopes it would help to dislodge him, but to no avail. He rose to his knees and threw his body over yours, wrestling you into a lying position while you thrashed about. This went on for a few minutes: you fought, he endured, until you were too exhausted to keep going and fell back on the bed, panting.

“Did you get that out of your system?” He lifted himself on his palms and looked down at you. His tone was patronizing and you wanted to hit him. Your arm twitched with the temptation, but your mind won out in the end.

You nodded, and Steve rolled off of you to sit on the edge of the bed and pat the spot beside him. You got up, throwing your legs over to the other side of the mattress only to stop midway when you felt the memento of what he’d done to you in your car, the unmistakable crust coating the top of your thighs. You slid your feet all the way to the ground, slower this time, trying to avoid the horrible sensation but only making it worse.

“You must be hungry.” He commented, smiling at you like all of this was perfectly normal.

“Where am I?” You asked.

Steve didn’t respond, leaving the bed and extending a hand to you, which you ignored, opting to stand on your own instead. If he was bothered, he didn’t show it.

Much to your surprise, the door wasn’t locked, giving way when he pushed the handle, and he ushered you out with a nod. You weren’t eager to do what he told you, but if you wanted to get out of this place you figured you would have to leave the bedroom first.

Once out, you were met with an open plan living room, equipped with contemporary furniture, all in varying neutral hues. In front of a moderately sized flat screen TV was a coffee table flanked by a couch and two armchairs. The wall to the right was dominated by a bookcase which stored about five books, and the wall to the left led to a long hallway that veered off in the distance. The kitchen area was large and everything in it was shiny and new, from the marble counters and chrome appliances to the white tiles. Like the bedroom, the walls were blank and had no windows. It looked like something you’d see in a store: matching, spotless, symmetrical, soulless.

Steve squeezed past you and strode to the kitchen area. He pulled out two bowls from a cabinet, then a Tupperware from the freezer.

“I’m sorry, we only have frozen food.” He informed you, rummaging through a drawer “My… My team and I haven’t been here in a little while. I didn’t have much time to prepare and I didn’t want to get a place without asking you first.”

He grinned, triumphantly lifting three spoons in front of his face, but you barely noticed it, trying to piece things together from his incoherent rambling.

“You’re going to have to stay here for a while, just until I get everything settled.” He said, scooping porridge into the bowls. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days, but there’s plenty of food in the freezer. You can use the time I’m away to decide.”

“Decide what?”

“Everything.” He answered, finally looking away from the food and back to you. His eyes were wide, intent on yours, but you couldn’t read the emotion in them “Well, not everything, not right now. We can start with the house. Where do you want to live, sweetheart?”

The use of the pet-name put you on alert. You felt keenly aware of the muscles in your legs, and how you could use them – should use them – to run away from situations like this one.

“I- I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Steve smiled, setting the spoon he’d been using down on the counter. He extended his palm out, his gaze tender, and you knew that this time he wanted you to accept it, that he would brook for nothing less than you approaching him with your own two legs, taking his hand in yours and listening like a docile pet while he explained his bizarre logic to you.

Perhaps it would be wise to play along for now, to see what he had to say and figure out just how dire your situation was before doing something drastic that you would soon regret.

What you did next was something drastic you would soon regret.

You didn’t really think about how you would escape him; you just turned around and took off in the opposite direction of the bedroom, down the corridor that was just as sterile as the rest of the house.

You heard his footsteps heavy behind you, and he’d caught up with you before you reached any of the other doors. He grabbed one of your wrists and whirled you around. You tried to remove yourself from his grasp, and were rewarded with a slap to the face.

It hurt. Fuck, it hurt – more than what a slap from a normal human would, you were sure. Tears welled in the corner of your eyes from the force alone, but you sniffled to keep them from falling. You held onto your pride; it was one of the few things you still had.

“Sorry. You startled me.” The way he said that made you sick. He sounded as if he did feel sorry, but also as if he’d done nothing worse than bump into you by accident. He reached out to you, touching your cheek and making you wince. You wouldn’t be surprised if that side of your face was bruised tomorrow.

He tugged at your wrist and guided you back to the kitchen, indicating one of the stools in front of the counter and helping you up when your foot slipped off one of its steps when you were climbing.

“As I was saying” He continued, picking up the bowls and taking them to the microwave “you should start thinking about where you want to live – what country, continent… then what kind of house-”

“What are you talking about?” You interrupted, incredulous. You wished you sounded as indignant as you felt, but you suspected your teary eyes, bruised face and trembling frame only made you appear pathetic.

Steve turned around and the expression in his face confirmed your fear: you did look pitiful, and he didn’t think you were capable of fending for yourself.

“I’m talking about what you want. It’s not a trap, there isn’t a right answer. You tell me what you want, then I make that happen, so long as I can.” He answered, then turned back to watch your food spin around in the microwave. “There’s not a lot I can do in this place.”

“What is this place?”

“I guess you could say it’s a base of operations?” He mused “It’s where Sam, Nat and I stay when we’re in the Great Lakes area, at least. It was going to be a research facility, but money ran out or it wasn’t worth the investment anymore, I’m not clear on which. King T’Challa of Wakanda helped us get the-”

The beeping of the microwave cut his monologue off, and he hurried to take out the bowls, placing one in front of you and then crouching to search for something under the sink.

You took a spoonful of the pale sludge and blew on it before putting it in your mouth.

Yep, it was porridge alright.

“There’s some honey if you want.” Steve offered, raising a bottle full of golden liquid, the very image of solicitude. You accepted, just because you wanted something more interesting than wet oats.

“While I’m gone, I want you to think about what you want.” He said, mixing his own food “You can write a list if that’s easier.” You were about to open your mouth and protest, but he seemed to have read your thoughts “I know you don’t want to go back there. Not really. Before all of this, what did you want to do? You just have to be honest with yourself, and with me.”

“I-” You started whispering, but didn’t complete the sentence. It was hard to wrap your head around what your life had become. Did Captain America kidnap you because he wanted to start his own charity foundation and had a wrapped sense of how to do it or something?

“Don’t worry too much. You don’t have to figure everything out now, or ever. Just tell me what you want – what you wanted when you lived in that car – and I’ll make that happen.” He stretched his hand across the counter top and squeezed your fingers gently. His expression was so honest that, although you didn’t think there was much hope, maybe he was deluded enough for the plan you’d come up with just now to work.

“I want to go outside.” You whispered, stirring your breakfast and trying to look as sad as possible. If this worked...

“Alright.” He answered without turning away from his bowl, making both your spoon and your jaw drop. “Finish your food then we can take a walk.”

You didn’t expect this. Even in the most optimistic prediction you allowed yourself to make, he wouldn't let you walk off without at least some begging first.

Steve looked up and chuckled at your expression. He took the fallen spoon and brought it back to your mouth, feeding you like a doting lover might. You accepted the first three times because you were too busy trying to figure out if this was some sort of ploy, but by the fourth you took it from his hands and started feeding yourself again, rather more quickly than before.

Once you’d both finished, your captor dumped the dishes in the sink and motioned for you to follow. He led you down the same hallway you had run from him in, but this time you made it to the end. A large metal door with a biometric lock occupied the furthest wall of the corridor, and placed in front of it was a pair of loafers, which Steve promptly put on. You hadn’t thought about your own lack of shoes before proposing this trip outside, but if there was any chance of escape, you’d run barefoot across glass.

Steve unlocked the door and stepped out into the upper section of a large loft (you used that time to examine the door, which seemed to be about five centimeters thick). You trailed after him, barely having time to notice how cold the concrete flooring was; you were too busy trying to find the origin of the light flitting into the room. To your right was a wall of floor to ceiling windows, and, beyond it, a sea of golden grass as far as the eye could see. Just where were you?

Steve descended a set of stairs with you close on his heels, arriving at an empty hall, which you surmised was originally intended to serve as the reception. He didn’t pause to look out the windows or check if you were behind him, striding with terrifying single mindedness to the double glass doors.

The outside was not what you had hoped for. There was nothing. No roads, no paths, no buildings, absolutely no sign of human life other than the edifice you’d come from – just endless plains, a few trees sprinkled here and there, and the bright blue skies.

“Where are we?” You asked, but it was so low you were surprised he’d heard.

“The Serengeti.”

You turned to him, wide eyed and trembling.

“You- you brought me to the Serengeti?”

“I did.” He replied casually, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand while he observed the scenery, then he turned to point to the building “They were going to study migration patterns here. They wanted to make sure none would interfere with the wildlife, so they built it far away from any cities or villages. Not a human for miles.” He seemed pleased by that fact. “Just animals.”

That was why he agreed to go outside without putting up a fight. You might be willing to run through glass to escape him, but you wouldn’t run across lions.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, but you weren’t cold. You watched the horizon, hoping to spot a vehicle in the distance, but all you saw were a couple of birds. You walked forward, then turned back to Steve. He was looking at you, but he hadn’t moved from his spot.

“You’re not gonna stop me?” You asked, then swallowed hard. Maybe you should’ve kept quiet.

“I don’t think I have to.”

He was right, of course. ‘I’ll wander aimlessly in the wilderness, surrounded by thousands of animals that could easily kill me, bringing no compass, water or shoes with me, until I find someone who can help me get back home.’ wasn’t the kind of thing someone could bluff about. You took a few more token steps, saw a patch of tall grass move, then ran back to him.

“Are you ready to go inside now?” He touched your arms and stared into your eyes, and you nodded. That was it, he had defeated you. Even if you could make it past the metal door, you couldn't make it in the wild. You nodded, and he smiled at you, then looked down and frowned “Ah, you don’t have any shoes on.”

* * *

After carrying you upstairs, Steve showed you how to work the TV (it only had access to local channels) and the DVD player (there were only a few early two thousands movies). He showed you were the bathroom was, then explained to you that you’d have to live on frozen food until you left this place, because the stove wasn’t working, the only knives there were made out of plastic, and also there was no other kind of food.

Lastly, he brought you to the bedroom you woke up in, opened the wardrobe and showed you small stacks of loose t-shirts, baggy shorts, and plain underwear, and told you they were what you would wear for the time being.

“I know they’re nothing special, but I’ll buy you more things once we’re settled. I don’t know your exact size so-” Steve’s words died in his throat, and he shuffled towards the bed, sitting down and staring at you with puppy eyes. You crossed your arms and avoided his gaze,

He called you, and when you looked, he nodded to the spot beside him. You sat down, keeping your thighs clamped together and covering them with your hands. He said he was leaving tomorrow, so maybe you could avoid talking to him until he returned.

“I know this is messy. I know none would want this, but-” He trailed off, breathed in deeply then let go with a loud exhale “I saw you, and how nothing seemed to go your way, and I had to do something.”

He stopped talking, and even though you didn’t want to keep the ball rolling he wasn’t leaving the room and you had to do something about it.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” You whispered. “Ask if I wanted your help?

“I told you. People don’t like change or asking for help. When they’re in bad a spiral, it’s even worse. Besides, there’s no asking for this.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked all around the room. Yes, none in their right mind would ask someone they had never met if they would like to be confined to a building in the Tanzanian wilderness with no other people around to keep them company. Then again, none in their right mind would kidnap a stranger and hide them in the Serengeti because they felt bad for them.

“I thought you would-” He started, then stopped and shook his head “Never mind. It’s silly.”

Steve sighed, then leaned back against the mattress. You made to stand up, but he grabbed you by your wrist before you could and pulled you backwards, sitting you in his lap. You froze, a deer caught in headlights while he wrapped one arm around your shoulders and spread your legs apart with the other. He caressed you over your clothes and nipped at your ear and neck while you just stood there, immobile but not insensate. You didn’t know whether you should struggle or avoid angering him, but after a few seconds of frantic thoughts you decided that your choice wouldn’t matter either way: Steve would do exactly what he wished, nothing more, nothing less.

Not long after you came to terms with your predicament, the hand massaging your thighs slid towards your jeans’ buttons, fiddling with them and making his intentions clear. Your body reacted on its own, bucking against his, only succeeding in making him shush you and use the arm resting on your clavicle to press you harder against his chest.

“It’s okay.” He murmured and gripped your shoulder with fingers like steel “I’ve got you. I’m going to help you figure out what you want.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as he undid the clasps of your pants and pulled them down to your knees, one tug at a time.

“Get them all the way down, baby.” He instructed, drawing patterns on your exposed skin. You did so after a moment of hesitation, holding your breath as you kicked your jeans off. Quick and painless, for now.

Steve kissed the side of your head, maneuvered your legs so that they were splayed over his, then spread his thighs, locking you in an uncomfortable exposed position. He wasted no time bringing his fingers to your mound and rubbing slow, hard circles over the flimsy cloth covering it.

The hand he had on the upper half of your body slid down to the hem of your shirt, which he pulled off with minimal difficulty. You shuddered violently, and he brought his arm back down to wrap around your waist.

“Are you cold?” He inquired, and you shook your head. His breath was hot enough on your neck as it was. Maybe he knew you were shaking for reasons that had nothing to do with the temperature, but you decided it was best not to suggest that.

The two of you remained in that position for longer than you could possibly count, as Steve didn’t seem to be in a hurry. You could feel his cock hard against your ass, but he made no move to remove his clothes or even grind against you, as if all he wanted was to play with you all day long. You were loath to admit, but it was working. The hand on your shoulder barely moved, holding your torso in place so he could kiss you wherever he pleased, but the one between your legs was restless, alternating between caressing your thighs, softly stroking you over your underwear, plunging deep in your folds and furiously rubbing your clit. He had you senseless, legs kicking by reflex, hands desperately tugging at his wrists to extricate yourself, and lips uncontrollable, letting pants, whines and curses slip past. You were so close, so close, but whenever you felt like you were about to cum he would slow down and then start everything all over again.

You really couldn’t tell how long he’d kept you like this, but you knew it had been entirely too long.

Steve smiled against the top of your head.

“What do you want?” He murmured, bringing his violent rubbing down to a sluggish, torturous pace. Your mind wasn’t in the best of places, so you just made a loud sound of perplexity.

At some point you asked him to stop, you were certain you had, but he didn’t seem to have understood you. You answered again, and he only hummed in confusion. Lastly you wailed, as loud as you could, and finally you felt his fingers leave you.

“If that’s what you want.” He sighed.

Not having Steve’s hands on you was relief and agony all at once, and when he pushed you off his lap it was as if your skin burned with the contact.

“It’s lunchtime anyway.” He stood and smiled at you. It took you a moment to realize he meant for you to follow.

You stumbled after him on shaky legs, and leaned on the counter as he foraged the freezer for some food.

“Sit.” He said, walking to the microwave.

You pulled yourself up the stool and watched your hands trembling in your lap while Steve prepared your meal and set it down in front of you. You ate in silence, barely feeling the taste of anything, and once you were done, he guided you to the sofa in the living area. When he pulled you onto his lap, you knew your torment was far from over.

Steve buried his face in your neck and held you to him. He clung to you, squeezed you as if you were a stuffed toy, then smelled your skin. You jerked in disgust, and he moved his arms from your waist to your shoulder and hips, making it so that it was even easier for him to hold you in place. He sighed, then slithered a hand in between your thighs, separating them to continue from where he’d left of. This time he brought you to your breaking point faster than he had the first time around. You were crying when you finally deigned to ask for mercy.

“Stop, stop!” You yelled, and he let go immediately, pushing you off of him and standing up.

You hugged your shoulders and observed him as he moved about the room, retrieving a sketchpad and a pencil from a compartment in the coffee table and sitting in one of the armchairs. He didn’t look mad, or smug, or anything, really. He had made you into a wreck, but gave no acknowledgment that he’d done so, or that you were even there anymore.

You didn’t feel happy with yourself, hunched over and watching him like a prey watched a predator, waiting for the attack. It was instinct, you were sure. You couldn’t fight, or hide, or run, so your only option was to be devoured. The admission made you weep even harder.

At some point, after you had quieted down, Steve stopped doodling and dropped the notebook on the table, then made his way toward you. You already knew he would be back for more, but you still sniveled as he approached you.

There was no point trying to count how many times he forced you to the edge and then refused to let you drop. He’d stop when you begged him to, but he was always back before you could fully recuperate. This went on until dinner, then some. When he dragged you to the bathroom to get cleaned up, he had to help you stand in the shower, and after you were done he dried you, dressed you and carried you to the bedroom. He sat you on the bed and left to bathe himself, but not before petting the top of your head and asking you if you were absolutely sure you weren’t cold.

You rolled over onto a fetal position facing the wall and tried to fall asleep before he returned, but you were too jittery. You couldn’t help but listen, attentive to any sound that might indicate Steve was coming back. You heard the shower turning on, then off, but several minutes went by before you received another sign of his impending arrival, which was, unfortunately, his hand tapping you over the shoulder. You didn’t know Captain America could be as silent as a thief; none described him as such.

“Hey” He called softly “Are you ready to tell me what you want?”

No, but you knew what he wanted. You were desperate for release, but not so much that you’d willingly feed his delusions. Perhaps if you held on long enough he’d come to his senses. He spoke as if he didn’t understand the problem with his actions, so, if you couldn’t fight him, maybe you could reach out to him.

“I want to go back.” You whispered. Your voice was too hoarse to speak any louder. “You… What you’re doing is wrong. This isn’t help.”

Steve shook his head then walked back to the entrance to turn off the lights.

“Maybe you’ll be ready when I’m back.”

He settled in the bed behind you, cocooning you in his body. You trembled, and he hugged you closer. You hated it, but you were so hungry for comfort that you sunk into his arms, his warmth. You would be fine tomorrow, away from him and free to form your thoughts without his interference, but right now you would take what he was offering.

For the second time, you drifted off in Steve Rogers presence, despite your fear of doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like writing a second part to this story was a mistake because:  
> 1) Now it feels even less complete than it did before and I have to keep writing it.  
> 2) I wanted this to be written in such a way that any person in any part of the world could identify with the reader-insert, but since Steve is asking what they want, now I gotta make them want something, and I doubt I can make that thing be universal. (drop architectural styles and other related things in the comments unless you’re cool with living in a cabin in the woods)  
> 3) Now that I started a pattern I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna title the next chapter.


	3. What You Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader refuses to make choice

Steve was already gone by the time you woke up. You knew he meant to leave that day, but you didn’t think you’d be so lucky as to not have to deal with him in the morning. You searched to whole house just to be safe, and he was nowhere to be found.

Maybe he had really left, maybe he walked out to do something and would be back in a second, or maybe it was a test of some kind; either way, you would take the time you had away from him to look for something that could breach the door (a blowtorch would do) and something to fend off wild animals (you were hoping for a bazooka). You spent the best part of three hours combing through every drawer and cupboard, looking under all the beds and behind all the furniture, and even hitting walls in search of hidden passages. If there was anything that could aid you in your escape, it was hidden in a place you couldn’t get to.

Deep down you knew you were kidding yourself. Even if you could leave the building and had the guts to shoot a lion, you couldn’t go back home by foot, and Steve had to have taken the jet. If you were to ever escape, you’d have to wait for him to come back.

You took a shower, your skin turning raw from the water temperature and your aggressive rubbing. Your reflection in the mirror barely looked like you, and one of your cheeks was swollen.

Breakfast was much the same as it had been yesterday, aside from the small bag of frozen berries in the back of the fridge that you ate in one sitting, and you spent most of your day watching the uninspired collection of DVDs, sometimes pausing to check the local channels or making sure you had looked everywhere for a possible means of escape (you had).

You avoided the pen and the blank piece of paper that had been left in the coffee table – the list Steve expected you to write.

 _What you wanted_ … What you truly wanted was to have your freedom back, but he wasn’t going to give you that. You weren’t sure what he _was_ willing to give you, really. He implied you should tell him what you wanted from the time before he’d kidnapped you, but the truth was that you just wanted enough money to pay rent. You didn’t exactly have the brain space or time to dream about the future, what with all the job searching and panic attacks. Even if you figured out what all your dreams for the future were, none of them would include Steve.

Could you ask him to give you something that would let you get away from him? Internet access, a car and a force-field that repealed super humans? He said there wasn’t a right answer, but you suspected there were wrong ones. If you refused to make a choice, would he accept you wanted nothing from him or would he just choose for you? You didn’t want to think about it, so you didn’t. When he came back, you’d just tell him to return you to your former life. If he was going to make you miserable no matter what, you figured you might as well return the favor.

* * *

Steve arrived the day after the next when you were heating your dinner and watching ‘ _National Treasure_ ’ for the fourth. You didn’t even hear him coming in, whirling around when you heard your name being called behind you. He was standing by the kitchen island, smiling fondly at you.

“It’s nice to see you’ve been doing well while I was gone.” He said. You didn’t think his comment merited a response, so you didn’t reply.

Not one to let your obvious displeasure ruin his mood, he smiled wider and pointed at the microwave “I don’t presume you are making something for me too?”

“No.” You answered and moved to look at your food and watch it spinning round and round. You heard Steve jump over the counter and approach you. The sound of the movie was loud, but now that you knew he was there your senses were attuned to him and only him.

He touched your elbow, and your head twitched to the side in reflex. He leaned over and pressed his lips to yours. He didn’t attempt to delve his tongue in your mouth or make you return the gesture, and he pulled away once you began to shiver. There was still the same dopey, loving look in his eyes, and you turned back to the microwave so you wouldn’t have to keep seeing it.

Steve sighed and walked to the fridge. “Did you do what I asked?”

You acted like he wasn’t talking to you, like the most interesting thing in the world was the TV dinner spinning, and spinning, and spinning…

“Baby, did you write the list?” His voice raised “Did you think about what you want?”

The endless cycle of rotation of the spaghetti wasn’t the most interesting thing in the room, but it was the only one you wanted to acknowledge. It was making you dizzy-

There was a shuffling, metallic noise, then a kitchen knife embedded itself on the counter beside you, cracking the marble on its way. The microwave beeped, but you didn’t reach for the meal inside.

“Did you write the list?” Steve’s whisper was soft, deceptively so.

You squeaked out a ‘no’ and he inhaled deeply before letting go of the knife’s handle and moving away from you.

“I guess we’re staying in here a little longer.” He lamented “I really don’t want to do this, but if you don’t make some choices soon I’ll have to do it for you. You have to tell me what you want.”

Suddenly remembering what you had told yourself on your first day there without Steve, you pivoted on your heels and braced yourself against the counter for courage.

“I want to go home.” You said, watching as he turned to look at you. His brows were furrowed, and he was smiling, but you knew you had made him even angrier.

“ _Home_? You don’t have a home.”

“My car.” You insisted “I want my life back. Take me back.”

Steve’s fingers poked through the packet of squash ravioli he had taken out of the freezer, and you inched closer to the kitchen knife that was still perched on the counter-top. How nice of him to leave it there for you…

“I know that’s not what you wanted.” He shook his head.

“It’s what I want now.” And it was true. You didn’t want much when you were living in your car, but now you longed for the life you had once loathed.

Steve huffed, looked away from you, tapped his feet, drummed his fingers on the fridge – moved like he was trying to remove himself from that moment. Like he was trying to hold himself back.

“Fine.” He said at last “I’m taking you back.”

“What?” You blurted out.

“After dinner.” He offered no further explanation and approached you, box still in hand “Aren’t you going to get your food?”

* * *

The night air was cold, and standing on the rooftop in what amounted to pajamas wasn’t doing you any favors. A coat would be nice, but Steve hadn’t given you any, probably out of spite. He looked at ease in his full body suit, doing checks and double checks to make sure the jet was safe while you shook in your loose shorts. You didn’t know how much of that inspection was necessary.

The second trip was the exact opposite of the first: you didn’t sleep, Steve didn’t get you covers, and you shivered all the way through, but you were happy. You were going back! It felt too good to be true – several times you had considered the possibility of this being a lie, that he wasn’t taking you home at all, but why would he bother?

Hours of hopeful anticipation later, and you were landing in the very spot the jet had been when Steve took you. He had been honest, at least as far as taking you back went.

You jumped out of the vehicle as soon as the ramp was lowered enough to give you the room to slip through. You could feel Steve right behind you, but all thought about was running to your car. You found it easily, just where it had been left and unlocked, but you feared you wouldn’t be able to turn it on.

“Are you sure you want to go?” Steve asked as you were getting into the front seat. Spoken like he’d just asked you if you were sure you wanted to leave in the drizzle without an umbrella…

You frowned, nodded out of habit, and jammed the key in the ignition switch. The motor started easily, and you scrambled for the wheel to get out of there as fast as you could, just barely resisting the urge to ram your car into him (there was a high chance that things would turn out worse for you if you did.)

You looked at the man in your rear-view mirror, watched him get smaller and smaller as you ascended the slope. You couldn’t believe it. You had escaped? Just like _that_? It made no sense. Why would he take you and go to such extreme measure to keep you, then let you go after you insisted a couple of times? No way, there was no way…

Even after you were long gone and couldn’t see Steve anymore, you remained suspicious. He had to be plotting something, but as you sped away from him and his jet the past three days started feeling more and more like a bad dream.

* * *

Some people would say freedom smelled like clean air, others apple pie, and then some that would say that it smelled like cow shit. All wrong.

Freedom smelled like rejection.

Another job you didn’t get, another day of grinding wasted on people who wouldn’t hire you even to wipe their toilet, but that was fine by you. It had been five weeks since Steve returned you to your car, and you were still as glad to be back to your chaotic life as you were the first day. Captain America had taught you to appreciate your rotten situation, who would’ve thought?

You exited the building, smoothing a hand over your nicest pair of slacks, and made your way to the parking lot across the street. You fished for your keys on the way, finding them when you arrived at the spot you’d parked. You looked up and began laughing hysterically.

It was gone. It was _fucking gone_. Your car, which you had left _right there_ , along with all you had – it was all gone, vanished, only an oil puddle left where your entire life had been less than an hour ago.

You dropped the keys, then to your knees, your giggles morphing into ugly wails. You didn’t know what to do next. If there was a way out of this plight you weren’t seeing it, and you didn’t feel like looking for it at the moment. You had nothing and none, and you were so consumed by grief you couldn’t think. Your emotional state inhibited all rational thoughts beyond the one that told you not to choke to death on your own tears.

A painful lump grew in your throat, and you brought your hands to your neck in hopes your fingers would make things better, but nothing could make things better – not your own touch, and not the one from the person that had approached you from behind and decided to grab your shoulder like an old friend. You had no true friends, old or new, so you turned around with a scowl to tell the weirdo to get off, but the words died in your throat when you saw him.

You should’ve known it would be Steve. None in their right mind would want you old beat up cart; it was falling apart. The only two reasons for someone to take it were to sell it for parts or to destroy your life, and he had stakes in one of these things.

You had been foolish enough to believe he had been serious. Were you so eager to escape you had allowed him to fool you, or had he been clear in his intentions and you just lied to yourself? Had your future been sealed from the moment Steve decided he wanted you?

His eyes were soft and his smile was comforting. You wanted to wipe his fake fucking face in the pavement, but all you could do was cry.

“Are you ready to be honest with me now?” He asked.

That was the end of the line. You had no way to run, nothing to warm and protect you at night. You could tell him to go to hell and maybe he’d go, but then what would be of you? You’d have your freedom, but without a place or a friend there was no telling how long that would last.

 _Better the devil you know_.

You turned on your knees until you were facing him, then tugged on his hand. Steve pulled you to your feet, and his grin now barely concealed his self-satisfied glee.

“Yes.” You whispered in between sobs “Take me home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a transition chapter so it’s not very exciting. I’m planning on two more chapters, and part 4 should be the longest and take a while, but it’s going to have the highest density of smut so that’s nice.

**Author's Note:**

> I remember seeing some prompts for Dark!Steve fics in theimaginesyouneveraskedfor tumblr, and since I’m such a fan I thought “Yes” so I made this... in memory of all the vehicles cap stole... (The concept for this story sounded a lot less dumb in my mind). This is my first time writing anything for the MCU fandom, let me know how I did :)


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